Lady Snow
by Ordgar
Summary: Winterfell opens its doors to two very surprising visitors. Lady Catelyn is unsurprisingly unhappy.
1. Chapter 1

Catelyn was certainly what most would consider a good lady, and one of her greatest claims to that title was her disdain for complaining in public.

She didn't cry in front of her new husband when she was forced to meet him for the first time at their unplanned and unhappy wedding. Neither did he express her hurt and offense when he arrived in Winterfell with his baseborn son. Whenever she and Ned argued, whenever he irritated her with his harsh decisions, his cold manner, or just by being a typical northern man, she didn't let the people of their keep know her true feeling sin front of them.

Fortunately for both their sakes, this time was no exception.

"I tell you Ned, I REFUSE TO LET THAT BASTARD COME HERE LIKE THIS!"

Not that it did them much good with their three youngest offspring standing outside, listening with horrified awe without their parents' knowledge. They heard their father respond in a voice that was clearly stressed, but not loud or harsh.

"There's no reason to shout Cat! And there's no reason for you to deny me this either!"

"You know damn well there are a hundred reasons to deny you- nay, deny _Jon_" she spat his name like she was about to vomit "this favour. In fact I may wait until he gets here, so I can tell him to his face he isn't welcome here in these circumstances. And neither is his wildling whore!"

To be fair to the (at her age) miraculously pregnant Lady Stark, the circumstances of which she spoke were by all means extraordinary. Many would say they were scandalous. And to her personally they were just insulting. The fact that she was six months pregnant with her sixth child didn't help her mood.

Perhaps that was why Ned was not being as aggressive in his retorts to her complaining. She almost felt sorry for her dear husband, seeing his efforts not to match her fierceness. Almost. She was still too angry. And Ned had finally lost his patience.

"For all your hatred of him Cat, he's still my son and I will not throw him out. He is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he has the support and blessing of King Stannis, and he has the love of our children. And he is coming to Winterfell in order to marry a wildling princess in order to secure a lasting peace. Considering her status, I advise you never to refer to her as a whore in anyone's presence again. Do I make myself clear?"

Cat almost opened her mouth to retort but Ned's authoritative tone and the threatening low depth of his voice brooked no argument. In this moment he was Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North first, Catelyn's lord husband second, and Catelyn's lover third. Seeing that her cause was lost, Catelyn simply sighed heavily and nodded her head.

"As you wish my lord. I cannot persuade you. But I can deny you." She turned to the door, her long thick skirts twirling with her angry speed. "You may find me in the sept but you will not be welcome in my presence there, or in my chamber. Good day."

In a panic, the Stark children hid on the right side of the door before it swung open and their lady mother stormed out. She walked briskly down the hallway without turning her head.

All three of them released the breath they were holding and instantly regretted it.

"Who's there?" They froze. "Come out, I know you're there and if you don't come where I can see you I'll have you thrown out of my keep when I find you!"

Inside his study, Ned stood with clenched fists and a face like thunder. He was a sight of near-unbridled anger and little patience when he saw Arya, Bran and Rickon shuffle out from behind the open oak door.

"Arya? Bran, Rickon?! What are you doing there? How much did you hear?!"

His voice showed his shock but his questions betrayed his lingering and refuelled anger.

"Enough to know Mother is angry with you."Arya spoke quickly, her usual defiance and fearlessness suddenly rediscovered.

Ned simply stared long and hard at his children for a few moments, lost for words and response. Arya had looked up to speak into his strong gaze but her face did not match her tone or words. Her eyes were wide, her mouth neutral, almost pouting, while both her brothers kept their heads down.

Ned sighed as her remembered how young they all were. All three of them possessed traits that tricked others into thinking them older. Arya's wit and defiance, Bran's developed mind and responsible nature, and Rickon's fierce aggression made even Ned and Cat sometimes forget they were only fourteen, twelve, and nine respectively.

Ned spoke at last. "I'm sorry you heard us. But you shouldn't have been there."

"We were just playing 'Catch the Direwolf'. We could hear you both at the end of the hallway. Sorry." Rickon realised he spoke badly and lowered his head again.

"Catch the Direwolf?"

"It's really good, we thought of it whilst watching our wolves race each other."

Ah yes, those direwolves they'd found five years ago now. Back then his beloved son, bastard though he was, was still with them. He'd return to a Winterfell inhabited with five huge beasts terrorising the courtyard daily.

"Where are those pets of yours anyway? Normally Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin have to chain them and drag you away, even at your age Arya." His daughter huffed at Ned's words.

"They were in the godswood sleeping last we saw them." Bran spoke for the first time.

"And by now they're off scaring the horses and the stable lads I reckon." Ned tried to chuckle but Arya's stony look and the nervous ones on the boys' faces told im they knew he was trying to change the subject.

"Why are you and Mummy shouting?" Rickon's sad plea was the final straw.

"I suppose you had to find out sooner or later. I wanted to sort it out with your mother before I announced it to everyone. Come inside."

Three pairs of eyes widened in response to Ned. "Really?" Bran asked. None of them had ever been allowed in their father's study before.

"Yes, now get in before your mother comes back or I change my mind."

Arya, Bran and Rickon rushed into the room and Ned had to chuckle and smile at the knowledge that they still had that childish wonder in their heads. He closed the door behind them and took a seat in his heady padded chair, motioning for his children to come and stand opposite him.

"Now apart from your mother, you three are going to be the first ones I tell this news to. I plan to announce it to everyone tonight before dinner, so I don't want any of you letting on to anyone that you got to find out first. You promise you won't tell?" All three nodded their heads. "Alright then. Brace yourselves, and don't make too much noise at this news."

Ned breathed deeply as he prepared to speak. o be honest, he still hadn't quite gotten over the shock of the news himself yet.

"Your half-brother Jon is coming home to Winterfell in three weeks. And he's coming back to get married to a wildling woman."


	2. Chapter 2

"Is everything in order Satin?" Jon asked of his steward and captain.

"Aye my lord, everything has been done for the evening. Every tent is up, everyone rested, fed, and sheltered. I have guards posted at every ten paces. And I see your tent is ready. Do you have everything you need?"

The old Satin would have mumbled his responses, stumbling over what to say, taking time to remember everything, only to realise he'd forgotten something. Now Jon looked at the former brothel boy and saw him stand tall, his eyes meeting Jon's. His voice was clear, his tone calm and assured. Jon smiled, both for how far his right hand had come and to answer Satin's question.

"Aye, I've everything I need. As does Val. Get some rest."

Satin nodded and turned to walk out. Before he reached the tent flap Jon called out to him. "Satin." The golden haired youth turned to look back.

"Well done today. Don't forget to smile. You don't need to impress anyone here. Wait until we reach Winterfell, then you'll need to show off."

Satin grinned and turned to open the flap, revealing the blanket of snow on the ground outside. It was fortunately a calm night, with no new snow falling. Satin marched out, leaving Jon alone in the public section of his tent. It was divided into two parts, one filled bay a sturdy pine tree table covered in maps and empty wooden cups. The other part of his tent was smaller, cosier, and held something far more desirable.

"Are you done out there Jon? Come in and let Helda go back to her sisters."

Val.

Just thinking of her name made Jon feel warm.

He turned away from the table and walked to the large flap covering the private part of his tent. The tent itself was a fine, if plain gift from the king. It was a simple brown cloth, thick and padded for warmth supported by stout poles. Its only ornamentation was a few displays of Jon's new coat of arms - a black shield with a white wolf and stag rampant.

Lifting the flap, Jon saw Val seated on her stool in front of the large mirror, one of the few items of finery she used regularly. Behind her stood her maid Helda who was running a fine silver comb through her hair, another luxury Val accepted, though she tried not to admit her liking for it. What she did admit was how she enjoyed having her hair comb until it was soft and thin before she went to bed. Living north of the Wall gave a women a healthy appetite for cleanliness, or so Jon reasoned

"That's enough Helda. My hair's fine now."

"Is there anything else my lady?" Helda asked with the greatest courtesy.

She seemed to idolise Val, if only out of awe for this beautiful, strange women from the wild north. Val had picked her up in a village in the Gift on the journey south, and since then she barely left her side.

"No dear, that's all. You can go back to your girls. Brigid will be worried about you."

Helda quickly curtsied, placed the comb in Val's outstretched hand and left the tent, curtsying again to Jon on her way. Jon turned to look at her retreating form for a moment, then turned back to Val.

"Brigid?"

"She'd her older sister by about five years. Only ten-and-seven, but she's a full mother to that girl." She turned to look at Jon, smiling warmly. "She needs some help in looking after her."

Jon smiled in return. He didn't need to speak and neither did Val. He knew she was thinking of her youth with Dalla. As if she'd heard his thoughts, Val spoke again,.

"It's just as well Brigid is looking after Mance and Dalla's son."

"She is?!"

Val laughed out loud at his shocked sputter. "Honestly Jon Snow, do you know nothing of the people you lead?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I know the men who ride beside me. I haven't met their wives and sisters or whatever, I just have hairy sweaty men, half of them free folk who've never seen a horse before, who I can talk to."

"Well then you lead your men, I'll lead their women. That way our marriage will be perfect." She grinned a wide grin. "Even if it's pointless."

She stood up and walked towards Jon. he was dressed in a plain northern lady's dress, a dark brown like the tent, with only its cuffs and hem rimmed rabbit fur for ornamentation. Wrapped around her she had a grey cloak. In such simple attire, she still shone in her elegant beauty. Jon often wondered what a southern lady, especially one from south of the Neck, would think of his wildling bride. The only thing her complexion had seen was snow, yet she needed no powder for her cheeks, or crushed berries for her lips.

She gently took Jon's face in her hands and leaned in to press her lips to his. Jon smiled into the kiss, placing his hands on her supple yet slim waist. He would have pulled her closer, but he didn't want the dirt of his gambeson and tunic to besmirch her attire. Val pulled back to smile at him again.

"I've missed you today. You've been out scouting too long with those hairy sweaty men of yours. You're neglecting your duties."

As she spoke her right hand trailed down Jon's front, coming to rest its fingertips on the hem of Jon's sword belt. Jon's smile widened and he took her hand in his gloved one.

"I've been attending my duties to my people, my lady. And I have no duties to you until we are married." He brought her hand to his and kissed the back of it. Val simply laughed again.

"You weren't saying that last night. Or the night before, or last week. You haven't said anything like that since we left the Wall, Lord Snow. Or is it now Wolfram? Yes, that's right. Lord and Lady Wolfram of the Dreadfort. What charming names you kneelers make for yourselves."

Jon had to admit he liked the new name Stannis had given him. For his service in successfully bringing the wildlings south of the Wall and under the king's domain, he was allowed a household of his own, far from the frozen Castle Black, and a title. 'Wolfram' came to him when Sam found the name in a history of the highland clans. One ancient warlord, Strungar, had been called the Wolfram for the wolf skins he wore to combat and, so it was said in the margins of the page, the way he took women.

Val found it hilariously appropriate when Jon told her after a night under the furs.

Jon only allowed the mention of the former Bolton stronghold tinge his good mood a little. The late Lord Roose and . . . that _thing_ he had for a son were among the victims of the purge of disloyal and criminal lords of the Kingdoms. A purge that was still in progress. When he came to the throne, Stannis must have made a promise to himself that he would prove his reputation correct by trying to right the wrongs of those he saw as unjust in his new kingdom.

And that was the second reason why Jon loved him and followed him. The other reason leaned forward to kiss him again. They kissed and kissed, and soon they were performing their 'duties' with dedication and enthusiasm.

Val and Jon were riding at the head of the column of their followers, and as they did, she fell into deep thought.

One of the many things Val didn't understand about the kneelers was their need to have their leaders surrounded by large villages wherever they went. They were going south for a wedding, not to war, and yet they had nearly 200 men, women and children marching or riding in strict discipline behind them.

Whenever Jon managed to rouse his followers, be they Northmen, free folk, or former Crows, Val was impressed by the young Crow. It seemed strange to her how a boy barely into manhood had managed to convince the men beneath to accept so many strange things.

First, to let a green boy become their leader. Then they had to deal with a new southern king, a king whom the free folk had never heard of, and had had to come to respect him the hard way. This new king had proven himself generous to Val's people, and the rest of the free folk - she still didn't identify with those from outside her and Dalla's tribe - once they fell in line.

It still left a slightly bitter taste in her mouth. She never once thought the folk would ever kneel to anyone, even after Mance took command. Yet here they were, living and marching side by side with kneelers and Crows. It was a hard change for the folk, and many were still unable to fully adapt. They were still at the wall, or roaming the gift, only hunting, afraid to attack anyone for fear of the kneelers and their brutal king of justice.

The Crows had perhaps had an easier task of moving into the new world. Whilst the Wall still needed defending against the Others, there was a need for change now that the true northerners had come south of it. One day, Stannis told a stunned silent Night's Watch that their vows never to wives were removed.

How was that decision was made? Val would tell you she had no idea. Though she may have seen Jon having an urgent yet quiet, secretive talk with the king one day.

That day had been merely a week after she had finally succeeded in joining him in his bed.

Not that Val was complaining at all.

Memories of that night brought a broad smile to Val's face. Of course Jon had protested, as he had done every time before. Ever since his brothers had failed to stab him, she'd become his nursemaid. All those nights she spent feeding him, cleaning his wounds and bandages, stroking his head with warm, damp cloths. Perhaps it was inevitable she would start to find a place for him in her heart, if only so she could keep on looking after him. Since her beloved sister's death, Val had felt somewhat empty without a gentle soul to look after.

And Jon Snow was a gentle man. Some nights, most in fact, we was hardly gentle with her, and she loved those nights, every last one of them. But that first night, as his protests died on his lips, after several weeks of him refusing her in his bed-ridden state, he simply embraced her and held her close as he kissed her so tenderly.

Val bit her lip as she remembered how slow Jon's movements were that night, and how she had responded in kind, enthralled by this alien form of love-making. Her nights with Jarl and other men had been rough, fast, and over far too soon, usually clad in their travelling furs in a ditch hidden from their companions.

Not with Jon. Even when he took her hard and fast, he made sure her pleasure lasted as long as she could bear. Even then, he was gentle in his own way, with his hands, his fingers, his tongue . . .

"Are you alright Val?"

Jon's concerned voice broke Val's thoughts and she felt far more flustered than she was used to in anyone's presence. It was one of the little things about her new life with Jon that she still had to come to terms with.

"Aye I'm fine Jon. Just thinking about the man I've stolen, and what a fine choice I made. Especially where it matters."

Jon laughed out loud, even as she spoke only a few metres in front of their lead riders. Satin and Sam could probably hear the two of them as they spoke, though if they ever knew what the future man and wife bantered about they never confessed.

"You can't tell my family you stole me when we get to Winterfell. Not that I mind it anymore, enough of the Night's Watch know for the whole North to know." Jon smiled at her but she could tell he was being serious. "When they meet you and me for the first time, they'll be expecting the future Lady Wolfram, a good kneeling woman of honour and decency."

"And to the day they burn my body, or bury me in one of you sad little crypts, I'll never understand you kneelers. You take something simple and make it take far too long. The gods know I'm yours Jon."

She moved her horse over so she rode as closely beside Jon as possible. The black haired youth continued to smile and he took her hand.

"And I'm yours, 'til the day they burn or bury me. But it's important to them Val, and to me. They want me to do you honour. And so do I."

"And pray tell me, why does my honour need you and I to stand under the gods' tree and speak a few words that we already know in our heart?"

Jon sighed, his smile gone. "You know why."

"Aye." Val replied, her smile also gone. "But I want to hear it again. Maybe if you tell me enough times, I'll start to understand."

Jon looked into Val's face, and she looked back. Gods above and below, but he loved this wild woman. Her cheekbones, her nose, her pale skin going red with the cold, her golden hair tied back under her fur hood.

But there was more. So much more.

How many women could fight like her, or nurse him like she had? Who else could accept him for what he was without reserve; a bastard, and a moody, worried one at that. Jon always worried, he'd done little else since Stannis arrived as king and he became Commander. When he looked in the mirror in the morning, before Val had awoken, he could see the signs of growing ripples on his face. The premature appearances of crows' feet and frown lines beginning to mar his youth.

And yet here was Val. Wild, passionate, driven, happy Val. Here she was, by his side, and refusing to go anywhere. He owed her an explanation for his strange kneeler ways.

"In my lands, _our_ lands now" The words and their meaning seemed to impact Val but she said nothing. "A wedding, a man and woman becoming husband and wife, means something. It means a promise. A promise that they'll stay together. No matter what's come before, what there is now, or what there will be, they'll still be side by side. They'll not leave each other for others, and even more they won't betray each other by taking others to bed.

It's another stupid vow I know, but it's one that says to the gods and to all men, 'This is my man or woman. I have chosen them, and they have chosen me, and whatever you do you can't stop us'. I know this doesn't make sense, and I can't explain why it's so important properly. But it's important to me because I'm a bastard. You and I are not well loved in this land south of the Wall, Val. The lords and ladies don't have a place for us in their world.

My father's wife is like them. She has no love for me, she never has. When we see her, she'll throw the name 'bastard' in my face the first chance she gets. Whatever I do won't stop her hating me. But if I marry you, do the honourable thing in her eyes, than it makes her words more bearable."

Val was now simply frowning, and Jon knew his words hadn't helped.

"So you're marrying me because some idiot woman blames you for something your father did?"

"No! It's just, I need this . ."

"So you're dragging me under a tree for your sake?"

"Didn't you agree to it for my sake? You knew all this before."

"Aye, and I still don't understand it. What I understand the least is why you care what some bitch thinks when she couldn't love a motherless child!"

"It's not the same as the north Val, and that's not even the point! Imagine if I left you now for a year, and then came back with another woman's child? You'd hate it, and you'd hate me."

"I'd geld you if you tried to join my bed."

"Exactly."

For a few moments Val didn't speak, and the two of them simply rode, side by side, looking at the road ahead of them, an awkward tension hanging over them. Mostly they were both frustrated. Val still couldn't grasp why Jon obsessed over a woman who hated him, and Jon was trying to find the words to explain.

"There's something you're not telling me, Jon Snow."

Her use of his bastard's title revealed she was serious, and wanted an answer. Fortunately, Jon had one.

"Imagine you're a child again. You're in your home, you have you father, you have you brothers and sisters. They love you and you love them. You're part of a group, a pack if you must. We are our own tribe, we love each other and defend each other. But there's someone else in that tribe. They don't want you. They don't need you. In their eyes, you're a menace, a nuisance, a bad omen. They want you gone, they'd be happy if you were never born. And that someone has power over you, and if you try to fight back you'll be punished, thrown out, or worse. And you're still a child."

Jon's voice was calm, slow, and quiet so that only Val could hear. And she heard every word and each one sank into her mind. It was the first time Jon had spoken about his childhood in Winterfell that didn't centre on his friendship with Robb or Arya. When he told her such things, she saw her handsome, gentle Jon laughing and playing with boys and girls, swinging wooden swords and playing at war. She saw an innocent boy, like the one Ygritte brought north years ago.

This time she saw none of those things.

Jon looked at her again and spoke. "Do you understand? I need to face her. I need to look in her eyes and show her, 'I'm not just a bastard. I'm as good as all your children. You can't treat me like that way anymore. I've won.'"

When Val responded, her voice was just as quiet and it had none of her typical fire. "You've never told me this before."

"I didn't have to 'til now. It's not something I think about these days."

Val looked back at Jon. Her face was a blank picture. She always did that when something caught her off guard and she couldn't find a way to come back. Jon simply stared back, trying to find something to say to make her smile again.

Eventually she did. She reached out and grasped his hand on his reins, a small smile on her face.

"You're a surprising man Jon Snow. And I understand. I'll be your wife, if it means you can spit in Lady Stark's face."

Despite himself, Jon had to smile. "If you do that, then she will throw me out of Winterfell for good, and so will my father."

Val simply laughed gently until Jon leaned over and kissed her.


	3. Chapter 3

**I've made a small change to this chapter. I accidentally said that Jon had the Gift as a new fiefdom when in the last chapter I had said he got the Dreadfort. I've rectified this mistake. Enjoy the chapter!**

Ever since she had arrived in Winterfell, Catelyn had always felt like a stranger. No matter how many times Ned reminded her of their five northern children, or how highly the people of their hold held her in esteem, she was always aware of how different she was from her home. She could never forgot how brusque, even rough manners were in the North, even when compared to the dreary court of the Riverlords. The cold still seeped into here bones, though a little less so than it had when she first arrived a lifetime ago.

Winterfell was her home though, and nothing could change that. She had birthed five healthy northern children and there was not so much difference between Tullys and Starks that she could not find ease among her new people. Ever since she first came to this behemoth of a fortress, her connection with its gray walls and the hard people within them had been buttressed ever stronger, again and again every year.

As she knelt in the sept however, alone as the only worshipper as usual, she felt like a stranger in her own home. More than she had for many years. And it was all the bastard's fault.

_Damn you Jon Snow._

It sometimes pained Catelyn when she listened to herself. Deep within her proud Tully heart she knew she was unfair to Jon. She knew it was not right for her to condemn and judge him. He had not chosen his place in this world. Never had he asked to be Ned's son and not hers. Never has he asked to live beside her children. Sometimes, when Catelyn found an excuse to scold him, or even when she simply refused to speak to him as she passed him in the halls of their home, she remembered that what she may well be wrong. But this was not one of those times. Jon had chosen to come to Winterfell. This time it was his fault that she cursed him on her knees in her beloved sept.

When she heard that ravens from Castle Black had arrived, she had feared the worst. It had been many months, nearly a year even, since word had arrived that her husband's baseborn offspring had become Lord Commander. That alone would have sat with her badly, if it had not been for the changes to the boy's new position.

The Dreadfort given as his private fiefdom? Along with a private army of wildling savages and Black Brothers breaking their vows? Vows allowing them to live like normal men?

Allowing Jon Snow to take a wife and sire heirs?

It was the fulfilment of Catelyn's worst fears. She had always been haunted by the fear that Jon may one day marry and breed children, sons perhaps, who would have a direct line to her children's seat. What if her husband legitimised them, gave them the name Stark? Of course, as the years went by, her fears began to subside. Ned loved her with all his being, he would never betray her that way. Yet she couldn't help but feel she was betraying him now. It had been a fortnight and two days since she had last quarrelled with her lord husband over his bastard's coming. It had also been a fortnight and two days since they had shared the same bed. Catelyn felt betrayed, and she would let Ned pay for the feeling.

Catelyn was interrupted in her self-pity and despairing by the creaking of the sept door opening, followed by a soft voice.

"Mother, are you well?"

Catelyn sighed. Sansa, her beautiful, proper, loyal daughter. Catelyn told herself she had no favourites, but Sansa came close to cracking her resolve to keep that promise.

"I am dear. Are you well? Have your lessons with Septa Mordane finished?"

"You know I no longer have lessons with her Mother. I'm six-and-ten now, I'm a woman grown. I know how to be a lady."

_A woman grown. A proper lady, worthy of any of the great lords and heirs of this realm. And yet her bastard brother is being married before her._

"Of course dear." She turned to look over her shoulder, remaining on her knees. She saw Sansa standing in the opening of the thick double-doors, a passive yet kind look on her face. "A woman grown, and soon to be wed, if the Gods be good."

Sansa looked down at her feet, hiding what Catelyn suspected was a small blush. She sighed as she thought of how she and Ned had been working so hard to find a suitable husband for their eldest daughter. They had sent letters across the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, even to remote, alien Dorne to find Sansa a bridegroom. They wouldn't have done so if she hadn't insisted. Sansa was still as eager to find her perfect prince, wherever he may be. Since the removal of the last princes of the realm - Joffrey had reportedly been locked up by Stannis for attacking the princess Shireen, and Tommen was no more a viable option as an incestuous bastard - there had been far less eligible bachelors on the market.

Most of the young noblemen of Westeros were getting married too quickly for Ned or Catelyn to find a suitor for Sansa but it did not stop them from continuously trying. Now Catelyn was more determined than ever to find ever to find a groom, for her own pride as well for Sansa's happiness. The realisation of such thoughts brought a little pain at her own selfishness.

"If the Gods be good mother. The Old and the New." She looked back at her mother with a weak smile and the traces of her blush still there. "Are you well mother? I've barely seen you these last two weeks. Is it alright between you and father?"

Catelyn looked away from her daughter at her words. She took a deep breath before she deigned to give an honest reply.

"Things are difficult between your father and I, Sansa. Don't worry, it is nothing to do with you or any of your siblings. At least, not with your trueborn siblings."

"You mean Jon."

"Yes, my dear."

For a few moments there was silence between mother and daughter. It seemed that no more words were needed to be said after the bastard's name had been mentioned. Ever since Sansa had been old enough to understand what the word 'bastard' meant, she had silently yet firmly taken her mother's side in their family's only true source of division. As a matter of fact, as Catelyn was suddenly realising as she knelt by her daughter, Sansa had been the only other Stark to share and respect her feelings about Jon. She had never been rude to him personally, she was the perfect lady as always. Instead she had simply kept a polite distance whereas the rest of Catelyn's offspring had, much to her anguish, openly embraced and loved Jon for all the world to see.

Yet again Catelyn had to remind herself that she had no favourites among her children.

"I do not hate him mother."

Caught unawares by the sudden sound of her daughter's voice, Catelyn turned her head to look at Sansa. She was looking back at her, a look of trepidation on her face.

"I understand your feelings mother, I truly do. I hope my future husband never does sire any baseborns. Yet I can't hate him mother. I want to. He has no right to come back here, his presence is an insult, it always has been. But he never does anything wrong. It wouldn't be right for me to hate him when he's never done anything. I'm sorry, but it's just how I feel."

Looking into her daughter's face as she spoke, Catelyn was struck by the pains of one her oldest memories of Winterfell. She remembered the first brush with the cold as she stepped out of the carriage onto the mud of the courtyard for the first time. She remembered the agony of Robb's birth, followed by the bittersweet tenderness she felt as she was the first to cradle him.

After these two relics of her past followed Ned's arrival in Winterfell. With Jon Snow in tow.

Sansa's young, beautiful face, with her high cheekbones, her light freckles, pale skin, framed with bright auburn hair, suddenly became Catelyn's mirror in her chamber as she stared into it, weeping after the discovery of her husband's betrayal. Finally finding the composure to speak, Catelyn took Sansa's hand in her own and smiled softly.

"I understand entirely Sansa, and I feel the same." Her daughter's brows twitched closer together in confusion.

"When your father returned to Winterfell after his war with Robert against the Mad King, I was hoping for a new beginning. I had lost my sister to a man old enough to father us both, my own father to my old home, and my freedom to your father. I was happy to pay the last price. I knew it was the lot of women in this world, and even in the short time we had before he rode away, I could see clearly that the young Eddard Stark was a good man. Tall, strong, bearded already, and a little bit handsome."

Sansa smiled and almost sniggered at the last words and Catelyn allowed herself to grin before continuing. "So as I waited for your father to ride through the gate the day we heard he would return, clutching your brother Robb in my arms, I thought to myself that I was blessed. My husband had returned safely, and I had given him a son. Surely there could only be happiness between us now."

Catelyn breathed deeply and sighed, and Sansa did not need to be told what happened next.

"And then you saw Jon." She said. Her mother nodded.

"One of the things you must come to accept Sansa is that however much your men may love you, whatever vows they swear, they do not always remain faithful. I hope and pray to all the gods that whoever is given the honour of marrying you will make you happy, and will never betray you. But I cannot promise you that he will do as such. I thought I could expect that of your father.

But I can forgive him for it." Sansa looked surprised at her mother's words. Before she could ask how she could do so, Catelyn answered her. "I don't care for a women miles away, who only had Ned for one night whereas I have him forever. I don't care what a man does when he thinks he's going to die the next day and wants some comfort and joy before he prepares to meet the Stranger. One good thing about being a woman Sansa is that you'll never be expected to go to war."

"Arya does not seem to think the same."

"Well" Catelyn chuckled "your sister always has to the exception to the rule. She doesn't know what is like. Neither do I, but your father has told me enough for me to know I have no desire to take a man's place. Your brother's make the same mistakes as your sister, so perhaps she is unique in her foolery." Sansa smiled briefly in mirth, her mother doing the same. Then her expression turned serious and she spoke up.

"So, you can forgive our father for . . . . for what he did, I understand. But there is more to it, isn't there?" Catelyn sighed, he smile falling away.

"A man's sins are easy to forget and forgive when they are out of sight Sansa. By bringing your brother back with him, he forced me to look upon his crime day after day. I barely knew this man, and he barely knew me. Yet he thought he could ask me to love a child that with his every breath insults my honour.

"It's not Jon's fault Sansa, you must remember that. You must also remember that I remember it and I am always aware of how I can't blame him for anything. There have been so many times I have felt guilt for my feelings. I can't describe how I feel about Jon without feeling ashamed of myself. Believe it or not I've told myself a hundred times that I would stop hating him, I let him be, accept him. Perhaps even love him."

Catelyn paused in her speech to wipe her eyes with her fingertips. She had never cried openly in front of her children. She found not salt water when she pressed her fingers to her eyelids and felt relieved that she had yet to show weakness in front of her darlings, especially Sansa, perhaps her most delicate flower in her small northern garden.

"But every time I look at Jon, I can't forget who he is. I don't know why, but I can't. Perhaps it's how he looks like your father. Perhaps it's the look he has when he sees me-"

"Does he insult you? If he does you should tell father! How dare he show you disrespect!"

"No Sansa. Jon is nothing but polite to me. I mean that when he seems so, afraid." Catelyn paused in though before a look of realisation crossed her face. "Perhaps when he looks at me he remembers his place. And it makes me remember as well."

Sansa had no words to say in return. After that, mother and daughter sat in silence, kneeling together before their foreign gods. No tears were shed by either of them, though they both felt more pain and angst as they mulled over the words they had spoken, and the things that drew nearer. Suddenly, after what may have been ten minutes or an hour, the doors to the sept were roughly opened. Both women's heads quickly turned to look at the intrusion, finding a flustered man-at-arms in the Stark colours standing before them.

"Forgive me Lady Stark. I was told by his lordship that I would most likely find you here. There are others also looking for you Lady Sansa."

"What is that requires you to disturb our prayers, sir?" Catelyn spoke loud and clear, though with decent modesty. She turned and stood tall to speak, and her daughter followed suit.

"My ladies, the lookouts have spotted a large groups of men and horses with banners. Lord Jon Snow is here."


	4. Chapter 4

It was as cold as usual in the courtyard as Ned stood with his family waiting. Fortunately there was only the lightest and thinnest fall of snow, with no chance of adding much more to the already moderate layer of snow beneath Ned's feet, clad in hardened leather like the other men around him. It still stuck him like a brick whenever he thought of how recently he and others had more and more often began to refer to his son Bran as one of those men. And the boy himself was starting to think of himself as one more and more often too.

It had been only a few years since Ned and the rest of Winterfell had last seen Jon Snow; and yet, it felt as if nothing was the same anymore. The Stark children had grown up without their brother by their side. When Jon rode through the gates of this castle, he would not find the same family he left.

Ned stood in the centre of his family gathered in the centre of the courtyard, just as they had done when the late Robert Baratheon had visited, backs straight and jaws held high. Ned's eldest Robb had long ceased to struggle with the demands of manhood. He stood beside Ned now with his own beard, a dark red instead of his father's soft brown. Ned glanced at him to his left and allowed himself a small smile before turning back to stare at the gate. On Robb's left side, his own wife stood.

Dacey Mormont had been a good choice for Robb's bride. No southern alliances for him. Ned had summoned Dacey south to Winterfell to act as a companion for Arya. For some reason, Ned one day decided to simply allow Arya a mentor in the ways of weapons. Surprisingly Cat had agreed when she found out it would be the Mormont girl.

_If Lady Mormont can prove herself in both a dress and in armour, then perhaps she can do the same for our daughter. It'll be the happiest thing for all of us._ Such was Cat's answer when Ned had broached the idea to her. Arya had been grateful to both Cat and Ned ever since, just as they had both been grateful to Dacey from the moment she entered Winterfell. Arya had quickly become her eager disciple when she realised that Dacey had come to teach her the ways of a knight, not a lady. It did not seem to register in Arya's mind when she suddenly became more willing to wear dresses in order to imitate her living idol. Her happiness was guaranteed for the future when she learnt Dacey would become her new sister.

Ned and Cat liked to pretend that they had had no ulterior motives in inviting Dacey to live with their children. Dacey's mother also liked to pretend she had had never given consent to a potential marriage between her daughter and the Stark heir. Both parties liked to pretend it was simply a sweet convenience that Robb and Dacey managed to charm one another so easily within the latter's first few months in Winterfell.

Ned was broken from his fond reminiscing of his son's betrothal and marriage by the sound of horns being blown from afar. He and the rest of the gathering in the courtyard turned to look towards the main gate, already opened to safe time. Whilst the Starks stood in the centre with their closest retainers and loved ones, the rest of Winterfell's population did their best to cram themselves into the yard for a good view of the returning Lord Wolfram.

Only a few minutes passed before the horns blasted again, this time louder. They were quickly followed by the first appearance Jon's followers. The already infamous alliance of Wildling barbarians and lapsed black brothers.

The first to ride through the gates were several dozen mounted men and - to the surprise of a few - women riding through into the courtyard. They moved quickly clear the entrance, doing their best to line themselves up to side in an orderly manner. Ned realised they compared poorly to the discipline and expertise of the Baratheon and Lannister men-at-arms who had visited years ago. _These wildlings have much to learn about southern etiquette,_ he mused thoughtfully.

He assumed they were Wildlings by their long hair and the cloaks of fur and animal hide many of them wore. They could just have easily been black brothers had they not stood out by their decision to retain their black cloaks. Clearly Jon had had no time to deck out his following with a uniformed livery. The men and women were at least clad in typical Northern fashion - south of the Wall that is - with thick tunics, leggings and boots. The Starks would no doubt have marvelled at the sight of numerous strangers clad in naught but furs.

At the head of the horsemen was a young man, supposedly a former black brother given his cloak, with longish dark hair a pretty face. He seemed to be of a n age with Jon and yet he also appeared to be comfortable in charge of the riders around, as they fell into line quicker at his barked commands.

As the last of the horsemen and women moved away from the gate it suddenly gave way to the two people Ned and his family had all been the most eager and reluctant to see.

Riding through the gate, with his back straight, his head held high, came Jon Snow and his future wife.

The breath that Ned had been taking in froze in his nose and mouth as he took in the sight of his son for the first time in years. He was clad in the black of the Night's Watch, his boots and tunic being the exception. The boots were a fine brown leather, matching the pairs worn by Ned's family and knights. His tunic was a deep grey, with almost no ornamentation apart from the fur-lined high collar and cuffs. His cloak, leggings, and belts were pure black however. Ned could spot a ball of white poking out from his cloak which, as Jon rode closer, revealed itself to be a sword hilt.

Jon's face had changed radically from his last days in Winterfell. The boy that Benjen had taken away to the Wall had been clean shaven for the King's visit, his hair trimmed so that it only fell to his cheeks. Now Jon sported a black mane of hair that hung down to his jaw. It looked washed but untouched by luxury to make it look curled or smooth. His jaw was now covered in a thick but neat black beard, which extended over his neck and into a moustache and connected by sideburns to his hair.

All in all, Jon looked every inch a Northerner. As did his betrothed. His future wife. Val was her name, that was what Jon's letter had said.

Although Ned had failed to last a year without betraying his marriage oaths to Cat, ever since he returned from Robert's war he had been entirely faithful to her. Not just in body but also in intent. From his early adolescence he had hoped he would be a good husband and schooled himself to be so. Jon's birth and upbringing had encouraged to school himself even harder. For all the years of trying to resist even thinking of women that were not his Cat however, when he saw Jon's lady Ned once more felt like the young man who did not know if he would last another day and for that reason allowed himself to fall into desperate lust.

Of course Jon's future wife drew all the Starks' eyes to her as she entered. They had all been eager, if begrudgingly so, to see who was the Wilding princess and future member of their house. What managed to widen their eyes however was her beauty but much more so her presence. Whilst they noted her flowing golden tresses of hair, her great height visible even as she bestrode her horse, what they noticed far more was the look in her eyes and the strength in her bearing.

Her entire being seemed to shout out her dignity and status. Yet she was still just another wildling girl whose sister had married a great man. Those were the words with which Jon had described her in his letter to Ned.

The couple rode deeper into the courtyard until they were halfway to the Starks. At that moment they stopped to allow two former black brothers to rush forward from behind them, with as much dignity as they could, and grabbed their reins for them. Jon dismounted first before assisting his betrothed, who seemed as if she would have happily gotten down herself had she not been following the etiquette of the South.

Once they had both dismounted Jon and the woman joined hands and slowly, with a surprising amount of grace, given who they were, began to stride across the mud towards Ned. He stared straight at them as they came close, almost refusing to dare to take his eyes of them. They were so much to take in that Ned wanted to get the best look at them possible before he had to speak to them. Everything about them, from Jon's beard to Val's beauty was a splash of ice cold water in the face, and Ned was feeling almost sick from the nerves that came over him.

Suddenly Jon and Val were standing before him and his family. Ned tried to hide the stormy mix of emotions overwhelming him at that moment. If his face betrayed anything, Jon and Val showed no sign they had noticed. Jon's face was a blank slate of stoicism, as if he too was trying to betray nothing. Val on the other hand seemed entirely comfortable with where she was, as if she was meeting her neighbours for the hundredth time.

Ned dared not look to his side to see the reactions of his family. It would be rude and beneath his manners as a lord to take his eyes of his guests at such a moment. He also did not want to see what on earth Catelyn's expression was at this moment. For a few moments there was only awkward silence between the Stark family and their newly returned baseborn son.

Finally, Jon broke the silence.


	5. Chapter 5

"My lord Stark, it is an honour to be here. May the light of R'hollor, the Old Gods and the New shine upon your family." Jon's speech was calm, steady, controlled, although he nearly stiff with the effort of not making a single mistake in his greetings. "You have received the raven from our lord the king?"

His father nodded.

"Do we have your blessing as guests in your hall for the night and the nights to come?"

There was the smallest and longest of pauses. As if Lord Stark was fully recognising Jon's words before he or Jon's siblings burst into laughter. How odd it must seem, to Robb, Arya, or Rickon to see Jon talking like this to their father.

And suddenly their father spoke.

"You are as welcome as you always were, my lord Wolfram. As is your future bride and all your followers."

Lord Stark's face broke into a warm smile as he said his piece, his cheeks cloaked in a thick blanket of greying brown twitching upward to break the stoic façade Jon had always known. Jon dared to return with the most modesty of smiles and even offered his hand to his father.

For a split moment, Jon froze as he realised the implications of his action.

_What will Lady Catelyn think? What will all of Winterfell think? Can a man openly welcome his bastard in front of his family?_

Jon's fears were brushed aside when his father pushed his hand away and grasped him firmly by the shoulder to pull him close to him. Jon heard a few quiet chuckles around the courtyard from those who dared to make such a sound. Jon couldn't see his siblings to either side of his father and himself as he returned the embrace. He certainly did not dare to look in Lady Stark's direction.

A deep breath and a hardly subtle cough behind Jon to the left reminded him that Val was still there. Chuckling quietly, he turned and smiled at her. She smiled back and looked at his father.

"Lord Stark, allow me the honour of introducing you to my betrothed, the Lady Val, Princess of the Wildlings, and future Lady Wolfram of the Northern Gift."

"I believe you have already done so, my lord. Yet I'm sure your lord father is happy for you to do so again."

Val's smile was a modest, polite one, not matching her words. The combination seemed to have the desired effect as poorly stifled giggles were heard from the two youngest Stark siblings before being silenced. A smile even broke upon the faces of Lord Stark, Robb, and his wife. Jon could not help but grin more widely, even if the tiniest murmur of chuckles could be barely heard from around the crowded courtyard.

The only people who seemed un-amused by the display were Sansa and Lady Catelyn.

"My lady Val, it is an honour to meet and to welcome you into our home. And our family."

Val's smile broadened, and she grew more bold. "It is also an honour for me to join you in your home, and your family Lord Stark, though it pains somewhat to hear the word honour repeated so many times within a single day, let alone within five minutes of meeting my soon-to-be good father."

For a brief moment Jon thought his father frown at Val's light mockery - if one could call it even that - but his fears were groundless, as his father openly grinned in front of them all. Although Jon had been gone a good few years from Winterfell, he was sure Lord Eddard Stark never showed that much mirth in public. Except when Robert arrived years ago.

_She's doing this perfectly._ Jon mused with a smile. _They'll be eating out of her palm in minutes._

His father loudly spoke up, announcing they would go inside for warmth and mead. Jon thanked him, and turned to order Satin and the others to organise the others as they unpacked. With that done, Jon took Val's hand and followed his family into the great hall, for the first time as their equal.

**Hi everyone, sorry this has been so long coming. As you'll know from my profile, I'm at University, so I've been tied down with coursework and what have you. I just wanted to get something out for the first time in weeks, even if it is a bit too short. Hopefully the next chapter will have more meat to it as Val properly meets all the Starks. **


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